Saturday, September 12, 2015

Since Max left, and joined his father in the Shadow Realm, everything in Layla’s life has changed. The Demon Gods threaten to destroy the Otherworld, and an inconceivable darkness has awakened—a darkness that wants control of Layla’s will. It also wants Max … dead. Not only must Layla face the true fire simmering inside her, but fight the one she loves most.
And this time, with her friends and family left behind, she’s completely on her own.

Leaving Layla nearly destroyed Max, but it was his only choice. Now, he must play the part—stay in control of his end goal, his actions, and the poison coursing through his veins, clouding his thoughts, and turning him into what he fears most, a Demon God. But even with his Oghams fighting the toxins, his control is slipping. Living in the Fomore castle with his Vampyre Fae ex-girlfriend isn’t making it any easier to stay sane, and waiting to face off against Layla is taking its toll.

In the final installment of the Fire Born Novels trilogy, the legendary Battle will be fought, and Layla and Max stand to lose everything. How far will they go to save each other and protect the ones they love? Even they don’t know the answer.
No one can win.

From the ashes of old,
They shall rise.
The last of the Ancients,
Foe and Ally.
The Legend lies in wait,
And bides its time.
Until at last the day comes,
For the children born of fire.

The grind of stone on stone touches my
dormant ears, and soft candlelight peeks through the slightest of crevices
above me, warming my cold face. Bones creaking, my body shifts gently to the
side, twisting through darkness, as the rich aroma of melted wax wafts over me.
The sweet tinge of vanilla candles. There must be hundreds just beyond my tomb.
I wonder who put them there, how they stay lit.

The spiciness of gardenia petals flits
through my resting place, too, sharp and intoxicating as ever. They are
perfectly pristine flowers, I remember, yet so delicate—they
bruise too easily.

The soft, protective embrace of
feathered wings catches my weakened sight through the widening rift overhead,
protecting me in shimmering cream and gold plumage. I don't know how long I've
been here, buried underneath this heavy slab in the frigid cold of The City of
The Dead, but I know MacCoinnich is near me. I feel his heat emanate through
the stone, the warmth of his undying love, even in death, fills me with hope in
the dark. I remember us. I remember him. All the time in the world could not
make me forget. All the time in the world could not make me forget what has
been taken from us—or who has taken it.

TIED (Fire Born 1) by Laney McMann

BLURB:

Normal people don't believe their nightmares stalk them. They
don’t fall in love with boys who don’t exist,
either.

Seventeen-year-old Layla Labelle, though, is far from normal. Her
delusions walk the earth. Her hallucinations hunt her, and her skin heats to a
burn every time her anger flares. Or is that all in her head?

Layla doesn't know what to believe any more because if none of
that’s true, Max MacLarnon must be an
illusion, and her heart must still be broken. No matter how much she wants to
believe Max is real, doing so would mean everything else is, too. How, then, is
that possible?

The answers lie in an age-old legend the supernatural aren’t prepared to reveal, and with a curse
that could tear Layla and Max apart forever—if it doesn’t kill them both first.

Learning the truth will mean fighting an arsenal of demons, and
being with Max will put Layla on a path toward her own destruction. Just how
far will Layla go to protect the one she loves? The answer may never be far
enough... away.

TORN (Fire Born 2) by Laney McMann

BLURB:

Find Max.

That’s all Layla cares
about. Not healing from the Fomore attack. Not finding answers to how she
survived a fall that nearly killed her. Nothing will stop her. She will find
him. She’ll even pair up
with an overbearing Fallen Angel who’s
hell bent on making everything harder than it needs to be if she has to.

Protect Layla.

For Max, nothing else matters. Not the bruises covering his body.
Not the pain radiating from his broken bones. Not even his hands tied behind
his back. He will find a way to save Layla, and the Fomore will pay if they’ve hurt her.

Every. Single. One of them.

In the second installment of The Fire Born trilogy, a new breed
of villain looms—one Layla and Max will never suspect,
and this killer has nothing to lose. Better yet, with Max and Layla’s deaths, victory is in the grip of the
enemy.

Will Max and Layla find each other in time, or is it already too
late for them both?

I write young adult dark urban fantasy mixed with a spike of paranormal romance, a touch of history, and a dash of mythology. I'm a dreamer, an over thinker, and a myths and legends believer. Nothing moves me more than writing fantastical stories. And reading them.

I am the author of:

The Fire Born Novels, TIED, TORN & TRUE

The Primordial Principles, CRYSTALLUM, book 1, releases in the Fall of 2015

ASTRAL (An Asylum Short Story) which also releases in the Fall of 2015.

After a long and bitter world-war
for pure human supremacy, humans and two sub-species the Eli and Crea reside on
Earth in an uneasy harmony. One morning on a jog, Bliss Jacobs finds a murdered
fellow Eli. She scents the killer on the body, but other evidence is washed
away by a savage storm, leaving Bliss as the sole witness and the target of an
assassin—and forcing her back into the world of the man who shattered her
heart.

He believes she is his destined mate,
but he knows there are no second chances…

Kaid Sinclair is chasing more
than his best friend’s murderer. He wants Bliss in his bed and in his life, but
after their relationship went south several years ago, he knows he has to tread
carefully. So how can he keep her safe, while still proving to her that they
are destined to be mates, and he doesn’t just want to control her? All he wants
is for her to be safe—but with a killer who sees her as Kaid bait, Kaid may
have to choose…his life or hers?

The assassin
grunted, dropped the body, and then watched it roll and sprawl on its back.
Empty eyes stared at the dark and cold Montana spring night sky. The assassin
laughed.

He’d killed him.

He scratched at
the chemical reactive burning inside his robotic chest. Hissed at the scald of
the toxins pulsing in his neck and right arm veins. Silver and the metals that
only resided in Eli—a race of humans who, along with the Crea, had taken refuge
on Earth five hundred years ago when their own planet Ecreal died—merged with
the contaminants in his body with caustic results.

At his veins,
the silver he should see as a fine bright line, pulsed dull bronze—aged,
corroded, diseased. The toxins tasted of rusted steel and burned his mucus
membranes.

He kicked the
body. “Fucker.”

Retribution was
sweet, even if it had taken him fourteen years. He’d removed the male’s clothes
so the trains and wildlife could more easily eliminate his father’s killer. No
remains, no ritual burial. Sinclair deserved no such honor.

Here the body
would be hacked into easy to eat pieces for the animals to feast on and, since
nobody ever came near these tracks, Sinclair’s remains would never be found.



Bliss skidded to
a halt on the clearing’s spring grass, tipped her face to the sky, and gulped
air. Clouds, in an oppressive charcoal blanket, smothered most of dawn’s light.
She grimaced. Ah damn, a storm. No wonder it’d been so gloomy in the forest. Time
to cut her run short and take the train tracks home.

To add speed,
Bliss edged out her Eli genetics. Many times the speed of an Earth human, she
dashed through a wind whipped meadow. At the train embankment, she lunged up
the steep gravel siding to the top then adjusted her stride so each step fell
on a recycled cement and plastic cemeplas sleeper. A flash of blue light, a
clash of thunder’s deepest bass exploded, vibrating the surrounding air. Eek,
come on legs, go faster. She rounded Death Bend. What the hey?

Bliss stumbled
over the dismembered body of a dead man. A scream ripping free, she spun and
fell to her knees. Eli metal thundered in her veins, silver bloomed on her skin
and swirled in her eyes.

Gene—oh my
fates, Gene cut into slices as if laid out in macabre banquet portions.

At three hundred
miles an hour, freight trains with six carbide wheels per axle tore along this
trio of tracks. Crusted blood and the starkness of bones exposed by the
severing suggested multiple trains travelling on differing tracks had sliced
through his corpse in gruesome precision.

Bile seared the
back of her throat as her metals formed a light exoskeleton over her human
skin. Bliss flung herself sideways and vomited down the embankment.

She forced down
her remaining stomach contents, calmed her Eli, and did what she didn’t want to
do—turned back.

A neon blue
flash highlighted the gore. She jumped as the clap of thunder thickened into a
rue of pine and ions. With their blood ten percent liquid metal, lightening
liked to strike Eli and Crea dumb enough to remain exposed. Being fried wasn’t
high on her list of ways to die. She had to get home, out of the storm, and
phone the sheriff.

She looked at
Gene’s body. God, this was…dang—she couldn’t think of a word bad enough. Death
Bend was so sharp, animals didn’t always have time to jump to safety. But an
Eli with his enhanced senses—it made no sense.

Near the
decapitated head she noted a sweet scent. Great now she’d have to see what that
scent was. Feeling as if someone had wedged a shoe in her throat, she peeled
her lips back, braced herself for what she was about to do to, leaned forward,
and sniffed near the decapitated head.

Bourbon fumes
wrinkled her nose. She turned into the cold wind to cleanse her nostrils of
booze and death. Crap cakes. Had he come for a run, fallen, and been too drunk
to get up? Fallen and knocked himself out then the train came? Drunk or not,
why was he out here? His lodge on Eli Clan reserve was on the other side of
Katoom, an easy twenty miles from this bend.

She blinked back
more tears. “What happened?”

Yeah, she didn’t
expect an answer.

She went to
close the dead eyes, so unlike the laughing ones she remembered, and stopped an
inch from contact. Oops, she better not contaminate him with her scent. Peter,
the sheriff, would give birth to a bear if she touched the body before he’d
processed the scene and gone through all the correct procedures.

Katoom’s small
population was a mix of Earth humans and the alien Eli and Crea. This
Subspecies cohabitation was rare. Even in large cities, the species tended to
live in separate suburbs but, usually, the Eli and Crea preferred to live on
large tracts of land.

All regions of
coexistence were constantly scrutinized by the ever vigilant feds, the
sensation hungry media, and the alien haters who wanted the return to old world
wars and Subspecies genocide. They prayed for infractions and spied on all
alien clans.

To keep focus on
Katoom minimal, Peter crossed his T’s with precision to all laws. She hadn’t
taken her personal link on her run so she had to wait till she was home to
contact him.

She ran her
palms along her cooling thighs and stared at the body. She went to stand to
head home. Hang on. She half crouched and peered closer at Gene’s neck. Two
inches above where his head had been severed from the rest of him, a jagged cut
gaped and a large portion of flesh hung, joined to the whole by a thread of
pale bloodless skin. She glanced at the other body pieces, and her chest
ratcheted from tense to tenser.

The torso slices
had been cut with almost laser precision. No torn flesh. No ragged edges. No
chunks cleaved from the whole.

But the throat
had been hacked and didn’t come near to separating that section of neck in two.

She gusted out a
horrified gasp and dry heaved, flung her hand to her mouth and kept it there.
She would not vomit on Gene. She peered closer and saw a windpipe and carotid
artery. She flicked her gaze to the gravel to calm herself. That was odd. Gene
was big, six-feet-seven tall, and two-eighty pounds of muscle. Yet, she
couldn’t see much blood and barely any metal dust. Not much blood at all. Even
little rabbits bled more than these few trickles.

Where the hell
could all his blood have gone?

She rocked back
onto her heels. A squall whipped her hip length hair around her body. Heart
ricocheting around her chest like a well hit racquetball, she shot to her feet.

Shit, shit,
shit. Gene hadn’t died here.

She swallowed
hard and surveyed the surrounding tree line, flinched when a dark shadow moved,
when the light shifted with the clouds.

Someone sliced
his throat, bled him out, then moved and dumped his body.

Her metal rose
so high, she tasted its metallic sourness on her tongue. She had to scent the
murderer, to know who did this. She dropped to her knees again. Head close to
the ragged wound, she inhaled deeply. From deep within Gene’s massacred throat,
the faintest waft of a foreign scent bit at the back of her throat.

The killer? Of
course, it’s the killer, stupid. What other scent would be inside Gene’s flesh?
But why was it so weak? It hadn’t rained to wash it away. She shook her head,
took another draw of air, rolled the aromatic molecules of the alien scent over
her tongue and scent receptors, and sifted through the data of stored scents in
her brain.

Please don’t be
someone I know, please. No buzzing and no internal recognition. No one she
knew, thank the gods. But now she’d be able to identify the scent’s owner if
they came near. Forensics would use a scent collector to gather the killer’s
scent then load it into the national database and seek a match.

She turned, ran
for home, and prayed a killer didn’t watch or know she’d scented him.

Cassandra L Shaw writes Urban
Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Suspense, & Contemporary Romance. She
lives in a small farm on the Sunshine Coast of Australia. Her eclectic past
includes fashion design, environmental science and years of drudgery as an
office worker where she dreamed of NOT being an office worker. She discovered writing a few years ago and
has decided that with its mix of art, writing craft, and study she’s at last
found the career that suits her arty and academic mind.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Bestselling new adult author Cindy Miles is set to capture the hearts of STUPID GIRL fans again with the grand finale of the Stupid in Love series, featuring Memory and Jace.

MEMORY

Casualties.

That’s how I refer to the guys who’ve had the bad fortune to fall for me. They only see long legs that they wish were wrapped around them, a cat-like smile, and the reckless abandon to take on any wild dare. It’s all a game to me. Show me a bridge, and I’ll leap over the side. Give me a car, and I’ll race it. Give me a heart, and I’ll break it. I always win. I even showed Death who was boss a long time ago.

Or so I thought.

Now, time is running out, and I’m losing fast…and big. I met someone. Jace Beaumont. He’s smart, and good, and I dream about spending days exploring the summit of his perfect lips. But, I’m a grenade. I know I should leave him be. I can’t.

JACE

Study, class, work, repeat. That’s all I have time for. At twenty-five years old, I have a bit more mileage on me than the average college freshman. But, that’s what happens when you spend your youth drinking, partying, and bagging girls like it’s a full-time job. Now, I have goals. There’s just one kink in my plans. Her name is Memory. She’s every guy’s dream girl. She’s intoxicating. She’s trouble. I want to stay away. I can’t.

“So, you want to know who I
really am?” I asked Jace as I rose to my feet on Morgan’s Bridge. The sun was
gone now, but still light enough to see. Almost dark, but not quite. “Why? Have
you heard rumors? Wait! Don’t answer
that,” I continued. “You’re pals with Brax Jenkins. Since he’s the king of bad
reputation, I’m sure he can single out badasses just as easily.” I winked at
him. “Takes one to know one, right?”

Jace
laughed softly. “Yeah, he said you’re known for some pretty crazy stunts on
campus. A player. Adrenaline junkie.”

“Hmmm,”
I answered. “I guess I’d be lying if I didn’t lay claim to all of those
accusations. What can I say? I love to live life to the fullest.” I cupped my
hands at my mouth. “I’m young! I’m twenty-two!” My voice echoed over the water
and through the trees. I squatted down and shot him a lingering look. “I just
simply don’t allow all of that to define me. You see,” I went on, wrapping my
arms around my legs and hugging them close. With my chin resting against my
knees, I looked at him. “There are many more facets to my psyche than I ever,
ever let on. You know? Keeps me in a sort of shady shroud of mystery.”

“A
shady shroud, huh?” he repeated, and chuckled. “What are you majoring in?”

“Fine
arts,” I answered, and sat close to him. “BFA.”

“And
what will you do with that?” he asked.

“I’m
a self-proclaimed ornamental metalwork designer,” I told him. “And that’s
pre-degree, yes sir. Got a business license and everything.” I flashed him a
grin. “Calypso Designs. I make a pretty decent coin with the whirlygigs and
windcatchers I create in the workshop by the barn. Any sort of crazy welded
metal art statue I can dream up. Calypso Designs, Inc. Google me, why don’t
ya?”

Jace
just kept his eyes on me, and in the faded light they hardly looked green at
all. More like shadows in the mouth of a cave. “Any siblings?”

“Nope.
Only child.”

He
nodded again. “You’re close to your dad?”

I
smiled. “Very. He raised me alone after Mom died. Taught me about brazing rods,
oxyacetylene, how to set up the fuel tanks. Taught me how to strike a torch,
how not to look directly at an arc flash. Taught me…everything I know.” I felt
my heart pinch, because I loved my dad more than anything. “He’s a damn good
man, Jace Beaumont.”

His
teeth were a ghostly white in the dusk. “I believe you, Memory Thibodeaux.”

“Okay.”
I changed gears from the serious stuff. “Here’s the final chapter of tonight’s
grand Thank You For Changing My Belt Date. Then we’ll have dessert. Ready?”

Jace
laughed. “Yeah, why not. Shoot.”

I
could barely see his features now. “Remember how I said this bridge was
haunted?”

“Yep.”

“Well,”
I continued. “The legend goes that back in 1923, Madigan Morgan and Company—not
to be confused with the Morgans of the Morgan’s Louisiana and Texas
Railroad—was commissioned to build this trestle for the Southern Pacific
Railroad. Anyway, Madigan Morgan was rumored to have had a love affair with a
beautiful, beguiling witchdoctor who lived in the woods, just there”—I pointed
toward the forest on the other side of the river—“named Gilly from New Orleans.
Right behind his wife Adelaide’s back. Well, the construction of the trestle
was finally finished, but not before Adelaide Morgan found out about the
affair.” I leaned closer. “It’s rumored she gathered her three brothers and
went after Gilly the witch one moonlit night.” I glanced up. “Much like
tonight, yeah.” I wiggled my brows.

Jace
watched me closely and in silence, and although it had grown fairly dark I
could still make out the amused expression pulling smile lines around his eyes
and mouth. He smelled good. A faint, woodsy, clean smell. Like pine needles,
with a ting of ocean spray, if I had to put a name to it. I continued.

“Well
Madigan Morgan was supposedly to have scheduled a rendezvous with Gilly right
here where we sit, that very night, in the center of the trestle,” I said
softly. “Gilly was a raven-haired French-Acadian Cajun, you see, and had the
sensual power to make a man do just about anything. And he’d fallen hard and
fast for her. Anyway,” I said with a grin, and I looked out over the moon that
had slowly risen, and watched the water lap at the bank’s edges. “When Madigan
arrived for the rendezvous, it was just in time to see his wife and
brothers-in-law binding Gilly’s hands with rope. He started to run up the hill
to stop them, but could hear Gilly’s voice. She wasn’t pleading for her life.
Wasn’t begging for them to let her go.” I reached slowly between the boards
beneath me until my hand felt the heavy-duty nylon rope I’d placed there myself
back in October when Crisco and I had bungee jumped off the bridge. Eased my
hand through the slipknot and grasped it tight, all the while, keeping my gaze
on Jace’s. “She was cursing them,
Jace Beaumont,” I said huskily. “Just before they shoved her off the bridge!”

Over
the edge I went, just as though I’d been pushed by Gilly herself, and as soon
as I cleared the boards I grasped the rope with my other hand and hung there,
mid-air, just beneath the trestle.

And
at the same time, Jace leapt to his feet.

“Memory!”
he yelled. “Fuck! Memory!”

Hanging
beneath the very place he stood, I burst out laughing. “Do you kiss your mama
with that mouth, boy?”

In
a flash, Jace was on his stomach and peering over the edge of the trestle at
me, swinging on my rope.

“Boy,
you look pissed!” I exclaimed, laughing. “I didn’t know you could move so
fast—Jace!”

The
moment I swung within his reach he grabbed me, and let me say that although he
was muscular, he was way stronger than I’d suspected. He pulled me up and over
the trestle, and I barely helped. He did it that fast. And he all but plunked
me down onto the track.

Jace
pushed off and stood, clasping his fingers behind his neck. “Jesus God,
Memory!” He turned to me then, and I could see fury in the shadows of his eyes.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again.” He moved toward me where I was still
sitting on the track, and hauled me up. His fingers encircled my arms, and he
gave me a slight shake, and we were almost nose-to-nose. A muscle flinched at
his stubbled jaw, and his dark brows were furrowed. His eyes flashed. “Do you
have a death wish? Or are you just crazy?”

The
irony of his words almost made me laugh. At the same time, though, I was
touched. I was used to being egged on. Used to being dared.

National bestselling author Cindy Miles writes edgy romance, ranging from contemporary love stories to sexy paranormals. A native of southern coastal Georgia, she loves reading (naturally), baking swoon-worthy desserts, traveling abroad, yoga, and classic rock. The cover for her debut New Adult romance, STUPID GIRL, was featured on USA Today's Happily Ever After blog. In the novel, a volatile mix of bad boys, sassy smart girls, dark secrets, and red-hot romance add up to one wild ride through college. The second book in her Stupid in Love series, STUPID BOY, features a wickedly handsome law-breaker who falls for a beautiful, straight-A college student with an ugly past of her own.

Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a New Adult Contemporary Romance writer, a voracious reader and movie fanatic who hails from Texas.
After surviving 5 1/2 years living in China, she had the courage to finally pursue her passion and become a writer.

Sydney has been blogging at sydneyaaliyah.com for three years, where she interviews people about their tattoos, discusses her favorite movie quotes, reviews books (New Adult & only the ones she loves) and journals about her writing and editing process.

An active tweeter, she is also a JuNoWriMo (2x) and NaNoWriMo (2x) winners who notes the sci-fi action flick "The Matrix" as the best representation of her life in the past. She is blessed to be awake now and doing what she loves.

She can recite the entire script for the 80's teen comedy/drama "The Breakfast Club" and loves any and everything associated with the Avengers Movie, especially Tony Stark.

When it come to books, Sydney reads many different genres, but some of her favorite writers are Stephen King, Cora Carmack, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Cassie Mae & Emily Bronte. The Great Gatsby, Under the Dome, Losing It, CassaStorm, Switched, & Wuthering Heights are her favorite books.

Lillian Dellacourt is beautiful,
refined and absolutely lethal. She’s also the most feared and merciless demon
hunter in The Company. She’s come a long way from the penniless seamstress’s
daughter sold to the highest bidder, and it wasn’t by trusting a man, let alone
an exiled Marquis with more on his mind than slaying the hellspawn . . .

For Dorian Lambert, Marquis de
Montalembert, being sent to keep track of Lillian is no mean task. He’s wanted
the fiery vixen since he first heard of her five years ago. But wooing the lady
while fighting the demon uprising is no easy feat, especially when the lady’s
tongue is as sharp as the Japanese sai blades she favors for eviscerating the spawn
of hell.

These two will have to learn to
trust each other fast, because the demon master is back, and he’s planning to
turn Edinburgh into a living hell…

Gripping the
chair arms to keep herself seated, Lillian fought an urge to leave and never
set foot inside Castle Brendaligh again.

It had been a
demoralizing battle and they had lost, but they had lived. They had done all
they could, but still the demon master had ascended into man’s world.

“You failed and
we are all likely to die because of it. I hold every person at this table
responsible for the state of England. You have ruined us.” Lord Clayton’s voice
grated on Lillian’s nerves.

Accounts of the
battle were clear. Nearly everyone in the room had risked their lives trying to
disrupt the ascension, not to mention keep the earl’s daughter, Belinda, from
becoming a demon sacrifice. Making such a show of ferocious reprimands insulted
their brave and selfless efforts. If not for the fact that he was her best
friend’s father, she might have indulged her desire to pull a sai blade from
her boot and slice his throat.

As if Lord
Clayton, the Earl of Shafton, needed to attract more attention, he waved his
hands. “You had one mission, to keep the master from entering our world. All
you had to do was kill one demon, but you failed. You should all be shot for
treason. Treason!”

His bright red
face gave her hope his heart might fail and save her the trouble of killing
him.

Other hunters at the table murmured, but no
one spoke out.

Everyone in this
room is to blame. You had the perfect opportunity to end this mess. Now

the master is free of his realm
and living in ours. It’s only a matter of time before he is strong enough to
destroy everything we hold dear. When your families are killed mercilessly,
will you sit here so unrepentant about failing in your duty?”

“Father,
really.” Belinda Thurston rolled her eyes.

Lillian missed
Reece’s steadying presence. Reece might have even been able to stop his
lordship’s tirade with a few quick-witted remarks. Her partner had nearly died,
and now lay upstairs recovering from demon poisoning.

“Don’t you roll
your eyes at me, Belinda. You are equally to blame. You were with the master
for days and made no attempt to destroy him.”

Gabriel,
Belinda’s husband, bristled. It was of course a ridiculous statement. The Earl
of Tullering was not used to public abuse of his family. “Just a minute, my
lord. You are out of order. Belinda was in no position to defeat the demon
master. The information she gathered will be very helpful in our eventual
victory.”

Shafton pointed
a fat finger. “I do not want to hear about information that will take years to
decipher. You, Tullering, are by far the most culpable. You and that woman”—he
pointed at Lillian—“made a conscious choice not to destroy the master.”

Lillian reached
toward her boot and let the hard steel of her sai blade handle bring her
comfort. One second and Shafton’s head could be rolling down the long table and
land in Drake Cullum’s lap.

Besides Shafton,
Drake and his assistant, Dorian Lambert, were the only ones present who had not
been at the battle. Their leader, Drake, had attended to assign new orders to
the hunters.

Shafton said,
“You could have destroyed the beast as it rose and was weakened. I know you had
the opportunity, but you chose to save yourself. It was selfish and stupid.”

Lillian could
kill him and no one would be able to stop her. Of course, there were always consequences when dealing with men in
power. She’d lose her home within The Company. Yet another arrogant earl would
not take her from her rightful place. She was in control. It was nothing like
her youth and the titled man who’d ruined her life.

Belinda said,
“They saved my life, Father.”

“It was the
wrong choice, Belinda. You might have cost us our one chance to stop this.”
Shafton narrowed his eyes on Lillian.

Lillian said, “I
can imagine your pleasure if we had allowed your only child to become the
master’s sacrifice. Perhaps we should have stood by and watched until the
master, with his full power rose, from the depths of hell and destroyed us all.
As it is, Reece Foxjohn is still recovering from battle and the rest of us
might have been sucked into the demon’s realm. But by all means, my lord, go on
and tell us how you know we willfully failed on our mission. I do not recall
your life being in danger that day at Fatum Manor. You were safely tucked away
in your castle while the rest of us faced death or worse.”

“You are out of
order, Dellacourt.” Shafton said her name as if it were a curse.

Lillian wasn’t
sure when she had stood up, but clutching the leather wrapped steel, she
rounded the table toward the earl. “If you have something you want to say about
my abilities, my lord, I suggest you do so. I will be happy to display them for
you, and we can evaluate them together.”

“Miss Dellacourt.”
A warning came from the other end of the table.

“You were not
there. You cannot know if we could have destroyed the master. As far as I’m
concerned, we made the only choice possible under the circumstances. Maybe if
your intelligence had supplied us with the location of the gateway before the
master had grown so powerful, we might have been able to seal him in.”

“How dare you
imply that I failed in some way? You who completely disregard orders at will.”

She had only ever hated one man the way she despised
Shafton, and he too was an earl. At least that one was dead. Steeling her
nerves, she slid the sai blade through the pocket cut in her skirt. “You speak
of orders that were selfish and almost succeeded in getting your own family
killed.”

“You have no
right to question me or my motives.” To his credit, he faced her and stared her
in the eye.

“I have every
right when you point your fat finger at me.”

“Who do you
think you are? I know where you come from Lillian Dellacourt. I know what you
are.”

Drake Cullum
pounded the table. “Shafton, that will do.” The demon hunters’ leader stood
rigid, narrow-eyed. He was formidable when he was calm, but enraging him was
never a good idea. He was furious now.

Had she gone too
far? The idea she might have overstepped her bounds with Cullum was enough to
make her relax the grip on her blade. Lillian turned and stormed from the
dining room.

Shafton yelled
something about not having dismissed her from the meeting.

Once in the
hallway, she pulled her second blade and turned to go back in and finish what
she’d started. It would be nothing to remove his pompous head from his
shoulders.

Cullum stood in
the doorway. He smiled at her and closed the door, baring her reentry.

Had she ever
seen him smile before? No instance came to mind. She stomped toward the front
entrance. She’d leave the damn castle, get her carriage, and ride like the
devil back to London. Yet the one person in the world she could really talk to
was a resident of Brendaligh. Holding her full skirts with both hands, she
sprinted up the curved grand staircase.

A.S. Fenichel gave up a
successful career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue
her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.

A.S. adores writing stories
filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in
for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she still
relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.

Multi-published in historical,
paranormal, erotic and contemporary romance, A.S. is the author of The Demon
Hunters series, the Psychic Mates series, and more. With several books
currently contracted to multiple publishers, A.S. will be brining you her brand
of edgy romance for years to come.

Originally from New York, she
grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the East Texas with her real life hero,
her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel,
history, and puttering in her garden. Her babies are both rescues and include a
demanding dog and a temperamental cat both of which bring constant joy and
laughter.

The memory of his touch, taste, and voice was already imprinted on my body and mind.

Can he really give me what I’ve been too jaded to believe existed?

A man who understood my needs behind closed doors and would satisfy all the dark desires that I’d kept buried deep down.

Twisted Lies 3 is the third book in a sizzling contemporary romance episodic novella series. If you like suspense, chemistry, betrayal, and the thrill of danger, then you’ll love this emotional page turner.

Sedona Venez is a romance junkie with a dirty mind. She lives in New York City with her hot ex-military hubby—hooah—and their furbaby. She loves writing sizzling, sexy complex stories about strong but broken characters who push boundaries, overcome their fears, and risk it all for love.

To learn more about Sedona Venez and her collection of contemporary and paranormal romance novels, visit her at www.sedonavenez.com

Monday, September 7, 2015

Copilot of the Blood Hunter,
Daisy is a newly-turned vampire, and she's hungry. Really hungry and it’s
interfering with her plans for revenge. Unfortunately, the only thing that can
distract her from said hunger is sex...which is a problem when she can barely
refrain from draining any man dry within moments. But old flame Fergal Cain
might just be the sexy-assed solution to her problem.

Part human, part cyborg, and with
a poison coursing through his system, Fergal's running out of time to find the
scientist who has the cure. Unfortunately for him, the misfit crew of the Blood
Hunter put a serious kink in his plans. And if the poison doesn't kill him, the
hot little vamp he can't resist might do the honors herself...

Nina Croft grew up in the north
of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a
volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of
nine-to-five work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever
possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of
writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern
Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance,
often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.